Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Pivotal Moments

I'm lucky that in my (almost) 42 years on this planet, I can look back and see pivotal moments that changed the direction and shape of my life. In fact, without even realizing it, I've often blogged about them.

There's the one when a sick day spent at my grandmother's house and a piece of "junk" mail led me to the medical field and working with kids. You can read about that one here.

Then there was the time I was getting allergy shots and my next door neighbor's step-mother said the words that gave me direction in my career. That story, in addition to directing my career, also gave me inspiration for the book of which I'm most proud, Live for This. That book even won an award this year. You can read that story here.

And how about that time that the use of a standard comma instead of the oxford comma led me to meet my husband? That's a funny one, although not really, because the PT/Speech therapy cap is STILL limited by that damn lack of comma. Want to here that story? Read about it here

And so, on this 13th night of December, I just asked Alexa to play my favorite Christmas song. If you know me or follow me at all, you know it's Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses. Now you're going to shake your head and tell me you've never heard of it. But you have. Take a few blissful moments and rock out.

You've heard it, right? Now take a gander at the lyrics. I've always loved that song. So much that for years, I wanted to write a story based on the song. Then, one August, as I was writing the heaviest, and most important book (Live for This), I decided to put that aside and write a fun holiday novella based on my favorite Christmas song. That's how this came to be:

So, it's a stupid little novella. What does it have to do with the rest of this post? Well, it's another pivotal moment, and every time I hear the story it reminds me. I had a lot of fun writing this book, and as soon as I was done, even though I knew I had to finish Live for This first, I knew I was going to write a chick lit series based on this book. The rest, as they say, is history. Made for Me and New Attitude, the two follow up books (and I hope Queen of Hearts as well) have been my most successful books. They've hit bestseller lists and Made for Me was not only featured in Woman's World Magazine, but it also won Honorable Mention in the Reader's Favorite International Book Awards. This New Beginnings Series has changed the face of my writing career. It's made me a successful author.

I always knew going in that these books wouldn't be the "important" book of the time, but I've been contacted by more than one person who found comfort/laughter/inspiration in my words. These books, although light entertainment, have touched people. All because of a song.

So, before rushing off to my son's concert ("on with the boots, back out in the snow"), I'm going to listen to my favorite Christmas song one more time, and thank my lucky stars for all my pivotal moments.

Friday, October 27, 2017

Trippin' on a Hole

When I was in college, at the apex of the grunge/alternative music movement, I grew to like Stone Temple Pilots. They were (and still are) my favorite of the 90s bands. While at work one day (I was a waitress at an Applebees), the bartender, my friend Jeff, mentioned how he'd gone to the STP show the night before at UMass. I was terribly envious that Jeff had been to see them live. Jeff didn't realize I was a fan, and if he'd known, he said he would have brought me. Jeff went onto describe the opening number, STP's cover of "Dancing Days" and how Scott Weiland sang it sitting on a couch wearing an afro wig. It was well known that Scott Weiland was a heroin addict and was most likely losing that battle. This was early 1997. Neither Jeff nor I thought Scott Weiland would live to see another tour cycle, and that neither of us would see him perform live again.

We were only half right.

June 26, 1997, while driving home from our apartment, after a night of drinking, Jeff died. It was his own fault. It doesn't make it hurt any less, especially since we all knew he probably shouldn't have been driving. Especially since he refused the offer to stay at our place. Jeff had battled his own drug demons, and his return to Massachusetts was his attempt at a fresh start. He knew if he stayed at school in Miami, he'd wind up dead. His death occurred two months to the day after he'd been to that concert, and we'd talked about the most-likely imminent death of Scott Weiland.

That summer was hard on all of us. People changed. Grief does that to people. It can bring them together or tear them apart. We all missed Jeff. A week or so after it had all happened, I'd driven home to my parents' house. On the way back, just as I hit the NY-Mass state line, heading into the Berkshires, "Dancing Days" came on the radio. Even back in 1997, the STP version was not widely played.

Multiple times over the next two years while driving between NY and Massachusetts, I heard that song as I hit the border. I cannot for the life of me explain why, other than Jeff was with me. When I'd hear the song, I'd touch the guardian angel hanging from my rearview mirror, knowing Jeff was there. Cursing him for his stupidity. Laughing at the cruel twist that Scott Weiland was still here while Jeff was not.

I got to see STP in concert twice before Scott Weiland was kicked out of the band for good because of his drug use.

Then, the event that Jeff and I'd predicted in 1997 happened. Scott Weiland died of a drug overdose.

Today would have been Scott Weiland's 50th birthday. My Facebook feed is full of things about him, celebrating his life while mourning his death. I didn't know Scott Weiland, but I did enjoy his music. Instead of missing him today, I'm missing my friend who's been gone for over twenty years. Almost half my life.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Don't Do It

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed, as one does on a Saturday morning, sipping my coffee, when I came across an article (from a radio station) about how "Motherhood is less and less appealing to Jennifer Lawrence" or J-Law as apparently we're supposed to call her.

Here's my advice. Don't do it.

I am the mother of two. I love my kids. They are without a doubt the best things in my life. And I ABSOLUTELY wanted to be a mother. My whole career was literally planned around it.

But, man, is it hard. Like, hard.

There are days (perhaps one or two this week) when I want to give up. When I want to run and hide. And my kids are older (13 and 10). We're not in the screaming all night, potty training, "I do it myself" phase. My kids are relatively self-sufficient human beings. In fact, the 13 year-old made the coffee and delivered it to me in my room, complete with a biscotti (side note: I highly recommend teaching your kids how to make coffee). But it's still hard.

There are days that are totally awesome too. My kids are fantastic, and I hope will be fantastic adults some day. But they are also strong-willed, smart, clever, and self-directed. You know, kids. I often feel like I'm the bad guy. Like I'm banging my head against a brick wall. Like I'm repeating myself over and over. Like I'm repeating myself over and over (whoops, sorry. Nothing I say is ever heard the first time).

There are sleepless nights. Messes you didn't make that you have to clean up. Laundry. Bodily fluids that don't belong to you. But even worse than those are the intangible things. The fights with friends. The school struggles. Learning disabilities. Attention deficit disorder. Teachers who don't get your kids.

It sometimes seems that society still expects every woman to want to have kids. I know several who don't and never do. Some of those women succumbed to pressure and had kids. Guess what? It doesn't turn out well, either for the mom or the kid. Moms deserve so much credit. They're the unsung heroes. But I also have the utmost respect for the woman who says (and sticks to it) that she doesn't want kids. If you don't want them, you shouldn't have them. There should be no judgment. There should be no convincing. No means no. We need to stop speculating about what Hollywood starlet is going to have a baby next. We don't ask when the male celebrities are going to have kids. Often male stars become fathers and we barely know it until their girlfriend/wife/significant other delivers. Meanwhile, women can't eat a burrito for fear of sparking rumors about their bumps.

It's time to stop.

Being a mother is a hard, often thankless job. It's the most important thing I will ever do, but that's my choice. Let's support our sisters out there who want a different choice. Let's make it not a thing anymore.

And if you don't want to do it, don't do it.


Thursday, August 31, 2017

End of Summer Reflections

I'm tired and I'd rather just vlog this than type it all about but the bags under my eyes are horrendous due to lack of sleep. So, I apologize in advance for the disjointed, rambling nature of this post. Consider this some true blather, more a collection of my thoughts.

  • August is over. Holy crap, where did it go? Summer, come back. Please. 
  • I had 3 days of work this week. It sort of sucked especially since my kids were off. My parents were super awesome and took the kids, but I missed them. I liked being at home this summer.
  • I'm having difficulty watching the news out of Houston. It makes me anxious and panicky. It doesn't mean I don't feel terrible about what people are doing down there, and I'll be doing my bit (besides the praying I've already been doing) to help. But I don't want to see it.
  • I'm about to launch my 10th book. I'm having trouble wrapping my brain around the fact that I've written 10 books (9 novels and a novella). That being said, I'm finding plot bunnies EVERYWHERE and I feel desperate that I can't get the stories out fast enough. 
  • My low back/hip went out on Tuesday. It's been a long time since I dealt with these issues, and man did it suck. I had to miss hanging out with friends because I couldn't walk (I'm better, fingers crossed).
  • I looked through a friend's Kindle Bookshelf today (she showed me). It sort of felt like looking through her underwear drawer. But it was also cool to see the books from authors I've met or will meet in October at InD'Scribe Reader Con and Book Festival, with my books on the shelves right next to theirs.
  • Earlier in the week when my Facebook giveaways weren't getting any love, I messaged as many authors/bloggers as I could to help me share. I cannot believe the people who gladly helped. I am in awe of what a kick-ass community I belong to. It's truly one where the majority of the people really want to see all of us succeed. Just great people.
  • Later in the week, a member of my community (clearly not the in above-mentioned awesome group) was really, truly awful to me. It was the first time on my publishing journey that I've cried from hurt. This person said that self-published books aren't really published because "anyone can pay to self-publish a book." This person reiterated this position multiple times until I had to walk away for fear of my inner mean-girl rearing her vengeful head. I guess in one way this person is right. Anyone can self-publish a book. Not everyone can sell books. Not everyone can write books that people want to read. Not everyone can get solid, strong reviews and be nominated for awards. Not everyone can make money. But I can do, and have done all those things.
  • College football starts tonight with the Buckeyes. Yes.
  • Project Runway is also on tonight. Double Yes (and thank goodness for the "Last" button on my remote control).
  • I read I think 14 books over the summer and I'm reading at least one more before Labor Day. That's what I call accomplishment. 
If you're on Facebook, check out the giveaways I'm doing this week on my author page to celebrate the release of Once in a Lifetime on September 5, 2017. Ten books. 

I can't even.

Sunday, July 30, 2017


I just got back from RWA 2017. For those of you not in my writing world, RWA is the Romance Writers of America, and this was their national conference, held in Orlando, FL.

But to me, RWA stands for Really Wicked Awesome.

Why was this week so great? So. Many. Reasons.

First of all, I got to go and hang with my posse. My inner circle. My writing peeps who I talk with every day online, who are with me every step of the way, and I with them. It's extra special being able to actually see them, hang out with them, brainstorm with them, and laugh until you cry with them. These are my friends and seeing them for four days a year isn't nearly enough.
Melissa Baldwin, Becky Monson, and me at the RITA Awards

Taking the boat to Disney Springs. It's the only Disney experience I had the whole time because I was too busy learning.

Last day, so sad. :-(

Next, I got to meet in person people in my outer writing circle. People I've "known" online for years. Brainstormed with. Supported. Received support from. It's great to meet these people in person. A blogger who is very active in our of our groups drove two hours to have dinner with us all. How cool is that?
With the great Camille Di Maio from my Great Thoughts, Great Readers group

With Rochelle B. Weinstein, also from Great Thoughts, Great Readers. She let me give her a copy of Live for This to read. 
With my online buddy, Laura Chapman. I was so proud of her for doing the literacy signing! She's fantastic and I was so happy to finally meet her in person.

With the group from Chick Lit Chat. Blogger Kayla (Book Lover in Florida), Laura Chapman, JQ Abbey, Silvi Martin, Rick Amooi, Becky Monson, Melissa Baldwin, Jennie Marts, and me!

The cool aspect of the conference is that I get to meet big time authors. And most are soooo approachable and down to earth, especially when I'm acting like a spastic fangirl. Which, by the way, I excel at.
The Kirstan Higgins. I can't even. Still. 

Jennifer Probst is absolutely the coolest. I'd love to share a bottle of wine with her someday. I imagine alcohol would make me so much less of a bumbling idiot. Or not. 

My surreal moment of the conference came when an author approached me after I'd asked a question in a workshop to discuss the topic. We were talking branding, genre, and book covers and when I pulled out one of my books to show her what I was talking about she said, "Oh my God, you're Kathryn Biel!" Apparently, we write in very similar styles and genres, and my books appear in her metadata. To make it even more cool, when she showed me her book cover, I pulled out my phone to show her the screen shot of her book that I'd taken the night before as I was discussing cover options for my next book and said, "I want it to look like this!" This author and I decided we were destined to meet and to put our heads together to find the audience who want to read "mainstream fiction with romantic, comedic, and sometimes suspenseful elements." There's not a category for that on Amazon yet, but perhaps we can forge one.
Y'all need to check out Violet Howe! According to the data wizards at Amazon, if you like me, you'll like her too.

Okay, surreal moment number two. When I was giving my writing idol Kristan Higgins a copy of one of my books and she asked me to sign it for her. ME! When I told my daughter about it, she said, "Did you freak out?" Obviously, the answer is yes.

All the above aside, here's why the conference was awesome. I learned tons about my craft. About marketing. About running my own business. About how to write characters that will keep you up all night reading, laughing out loud, falling in love, and coming back for more. I stumbled into writing. I didn't know much, or anything, about it when I started. I didn't know to show and not tell. I didn't know characters have a flawed belief. I had no idea about internal and external conflicts or how to use action verbs to describe a character. Since I started going to conferences and workshops two years ago, I've learned so much.

There's also so much more I need to learn, to work on. I almost said to perfect, but I don't know that that's a reasonable goal, as I think this will always be an area in which I can improve. I've got pages and pages of notes to look through. I hope the information seeps into my brain, filling my subconscious as I sit down to write my next project. And every project from here on out.

Yes, this kind of conference is expensive. It means time away from my family. But RWA is so worth it. Compared to the wealth of knowledge and experience at this conference, I know nothing except this. If you are a writer, you should be going to classes and workshops to further your skills. I CANNOT stress this enough. GO TO WRITING CLASSES AND WORKSHOPS. There is a huge network out there of people willing to teach you, if you are only willing to learn. Only a fool thinks they have all the answers.

So now I'm home and I'm so tired I don't know where to put myself. My back hurts, my feet hurt, and my blisters have blisters. So while this was me at the conference:

And this was Becky at the conference:
Don't judge. I was so close to doing this on the last day.

This will be me for the next week as I try to absorb it all and write my best book yet:

Thursday, July 13, 2017

On Writing, Quilting, and Letting Go

I've written before about how I have a hard time letting go. And I do. If I let myself, I would always live in the past. But living in the past doesn't let you be present or anticipate the future. I can't say it's been a conscious effort, and I still love my 90s music, but I find myself more and more in the present. I started writing my first book about 6 1/2 years ago. I finished it 6 years ago this week, and titled it Good Intentions. Some of you may be familiar with it. At that time, I'd been married for almost ten years had two young kids (ages 7 and almost 4). I was slowly climbing out of the haze and daze of those yearly years of infancy, toddlerhood, bottles, diapers, potty training, pre-school, home ownership, home renovation, going back to school, raising a special needs child, and being a working wife and mother. I struggled to hold onto me.

As with most of my life, I was in between friends. I've always done that. Been good friends with a group, then drifted onto another group. At this time, when I began writing, I was in an in between time. I'd recently become better friends with someone I'd gone to high school with, and she was slowly becoming my person (and still is). Previous to this, I'd been friends with the pre-school moms. I'd been very close with my sister-in-law who suddenly cut me off and doesn't speak to me to this day. Prior to that, I'd had my college friends.

In college, although I did drift between groups, I was part of a group of five. We met freshman year, all living on the same floor in Rich Hall at Boston University. By the end of that year, I thought we'd be inseparable for the rest of our lives. But life happens and people change and even by the end of college (which was 5 years for 4 out of the 5 of us since we were getting our Master's), there were irreparable rifts. Not really because so and so did this or so and so said that. Just ... because. Life. Death. Relationships. Careers. Geography.
My favorite picture of my BU girls, on Spring Break in the Bahamas.

When I wrote Good Intentions, I waxed nostalgic about my time in Boston. The character of Maggie is loosely based on me, at least physically (none of the actual story line is true--it's all made up). The setting is absolutely based upon places I'd lived and been. At that time in my life, I was yearning for a better time. An easier time. And for me, that was college.

Fast forward 6 years and 10 books. My husband has been encouraging me to get rid of the stuff we no longer need. We've cleaned out the baby clothes and toys. Made countless runs to Salvation Army to donate furniture. It's hard, as I feel like I'm giving away my children's childhoods. So, when it came time to clean out my closet, I struggled with a massive pile of t-shirts I've held onto since my college days. T-shirts from sporting events. From orientation. From concerts. From Spring Break. The shirt I bought when I decided to go to BU. While I would occasionally wear one here or there, I certainly no longer need a massive pile. So I decided to make a t-shirt quilt. The plan is that it will go in my office, once my office is finished (we're finishing our basement and the now playroom will become my dedicated writing space).

So, over the past two days, I've been cutting and sewing my old t-shirts. I had to cut quickly, as the action of destroying these shirts that held such memories was difficult. But as I was pinning and pressing and sewing, I realized something. My latest novel, Once in a Lifetime, is about a group of five women reuniting 10 years after they separate. And, short of one small reference to a deplorable hotel condition while on Spring Break and a story about cheetos, there are absolutely no references, easter eggs, or actual tidbits from when I was part of a group of five.

Part of my quilt of memories
It made me pause, as this would have been the perfect time to draw on that time in my life. But I never thought of it. And instead of making me sad this time, thinking about the friends I've lost, I simply shrugged as the realization hit me. Times change. People change. Sometimes people are there for you. Sometimes, even though you might need them, they aren't. And while I still keep in touch with the girls, now they're more of people I used to know than people who I'm friends with. We're planning a get together this fall. I haven't seen anyone in five years. I think some of them still get together and are involved in each others' lives. I'm not sure I still fit in. I'm not sure I ever did.

I have other friends now. Different friends. Friends who I can't imagine my life without. Much like my BU friends. But still, when I look at the quilt, I'll remember the good times and the times that were woven into the tapestry of my life, making me who I am today.

My new tribe. Wendy, we need to get you in here too cause like it or not, you're in.
My best friend Michele--my person.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

I'm Becoming a Polygamist

Yup, it's true. I've become a polygamist.

A book polygamist that is.

I've always been a one-book at a time woman. I don't know what is up with me right now, but I've got three going, and want to be with a fourth.

I'm reading the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas. I've read the first 3 books in the past 2 weeks and am waiting for #4 from the library. I really need it to come in quickly because, well, it's getting good. To whatever end.


Then there's the pool book I started. I kept it in the beach bag. It's a traditional romance, Everywhere and Every Way by Jennifer Probst. Well written and sexy. I feel the black moment coming. I hate the black moment.

Then, I'm beta reading the upcoming Whitney Dineen chick lit book. It was not what I expected, but it's super cute, and I can't wait to see what happens.

Then, I'm listening to Friends Without Benefits by Penny Reid. But I can't stop thinking about Nico Freakin' Mangianello. I'm considering buying it because I don't want to wait until the next time I can listen.

Oh, and I'm writing two different stories and editing a third.

I have no idea what's come over me. I'm in need of an intervention. Please send me a pint of Ben and Jerry's Heath Bar Crunch ASAP.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

My Big Break...Or Not.

It only took a minute. Certainly not two. That rise of emotion. That burst of hope.

Staring at the information I'd copied down from the voice mail message, my brain whirring in a hundred different directions. I knew it was too good to be true.

But what if it wasn't? What if this was really it? My big break.

We hardly ever check our home voice mail. Today, my husband went through and listened. Our insurance agent, trying to get us to refinance our car. A car dealership. And then, a message for me. Someone seeking me out, looking to represent one of my books at an international book event. I made my husband replay the message and wrote everything down. I hadn't been listening the first time, and this time I did.

Quickly, I posted in a Facebook group for authors. Then a Google search. I had my answer. No need to return the phone call. A scam.

And that hope, which had only swelled for mere moments was dashed, anger flooding in to replace it. How dare they?

I work hard for my money. 9 1/2 months out of the year, I work a full-time job while being a wife and mother and author. I have 10 weeks off in which I dedicate to my kids and my writing. Only recently was I able to give up my summer job. And these people want to steal my money, playing on my hopes and dreams to make it into the big time.

I repeat, how dare they?

I may never be a NY Times Bestselling author. I know that the people I am reaching like my stuff and want me to continue. It is for them, and for me and my husband and my children, that I write. And I resent someone trying to steal from me.

So, for a few seconds I thought someone wanted to take this secondary career of mine to the next level. But they didn't. They were only out for themselves. You know what, when I make it there through my own hard work and determination, the success will be all the more sweet.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Four Years of Thankfulness

Four years ago, I began my journey as an independent author. Four years ago, as I chaperoned my daughter's Kindergarten field trip, I anxiously checked my phone and waited for those first few sales to start.

I had a goal. I had to sell 4 books to re-coup the cost I'd spent on the cover (yes, can you believe I paid money for that first awful cover).

I knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

My book was woefully unedited. I had it edited. I changed the cover. I published a paperback, making it somehow real. I started writing my second book.

And I waited. It didn't sell much. More than the 4 books I needed, but not much more.

Then I learned. I networked, I listened, I worked. I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote.

In the 4 years since Good Intentions was published, I've released 9 titles (8 novels and 1 novella). I hope by the end of this year to have 10 novels out.

And I wouldn't be here without the support of so many. No man is an island, and certainly no one in the publishing industry truly goes it alone. I'm sure I will miss a few people (and my apologies if I do), but here are just a few who have made this possible:

Michele Vagianelis
Mary Rose and Philip Kopach
Patrick Biel
Karen Pirozzi
Becky Monson
Wendy Nagel
Melissa Baldwin
Cecilia Kennedy
Jayne Denker
Tracy Krimmer
Marlene Engle
Karan Eleni
Amy Buser
Laura Chapman
Cahren Morris
The ChickLitChatHQ Group
The Writing Wenches
Charlotte Lynn
Geralyn Corcillo

Thank you to each and everyone of you for your support these past four years. Thank you to all the readers who have purchased, read, reviewed, reached out, and encouraged me.

I'm sure I've missed a few. I'd like to think my writing has progressed since my first book. It's a good story, but I think I've evolved, and continue to evolve with every book. My sales and reviews have surpassed anything I ever dreamed of. My plan has changed to include writing funding my retirement.

If you haven't read my fledgling effort, take a chance on Good Intentions.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Holding On and Letting Go

It's a beautiful, sunny day. The windows are open, the kids are outside playing. The winter coats are hanging up. It's 60 degrees ... in February.

Before I can even question this gift that Mother Nature is bestowing, I'd best get to my point. After about eight or so years of threatening to work on our basement, my husband has actually started it. Long story short--we had a finished basement. Due to the incompetency of our contractors ten years ago, we lost it, having to gut it down to the walls and floor. The rebuilding process has not been speedy. In the meantime, that area has become a dumping ground and storage area. For the past six weeks, my husband has been cleaning out, which included several dump runs. Now, mind you, I've been asking him to get a dumpster for years because I knew we couldn't start work without cleaning out first. It doesn't matter who suggested it. All that matters is that it's getting done.

Except now my husband wants me to move on his timeline. I may or may not be biting my tongue when this sort of thing happens. One of my tasks is to go through the bins of baby clothes. I saved everything for the first five or six years of my son's life. He's now 13. I had good reason to save it--we didn't know if we were done. We're done. My daughter is nine, so we've been done for a while, whether we knew it or not.

But there's another reason for me to save. I'm sentimental, and I attach emotions and memories to things. My husband is not and does not. This difference makes it hard for us to find common ground at times. On the other hand, both my parents are savers (pack rats, semi-hoarders), and that's not a good situation either.

Take, for example, one of the boxes in my pile to clean out. It's mostly filled with liquor. Not a bad thing, right? Well, it was my grandfather's liquor that I cleaned out of my grandmother's cabinet when she sold her house. Almost 12 years ago. And my grandfather (who would have been 100 yesterday), has been dead for almost 28 years. So this liquor has been around for at least 30 years, but judging by the bottles, probably longer. So, I make the executive decision that I'm dumping the liquor and recycling the glass. I happen to mention this to my mom last night, in discussion of her father's 100th birthday. Later on I get a text from my mom. My dad wants the box of liquor, and I'm not to get rid of it. Something tells me that I'll be cleaning that box of liquor out of my parents' house in the future.

So, there are these bins of clothes. I did start giving clothes away after a certain point, so I guess this could be much worse. I'd say there are about 20 bins. I told my husband I'd reduce it to 1/3 of the current number. He doesn't remember that conversation. So I start bagging clothes. I can't look too closely or take too long, otherwise I won't be able to give anything away. I look at these small outfits and can picture the kids in them. I think of a simpler time, even though I probably didn't appreciate it. Back to the days where the kids' worlds revolved around me. Back to a time when I wasn't staring eye-to-eye with my son.

I joked with someone that I needed to watch a few more episodes of Hoarders to be able to complete this task. I'm sort of not joking. Nor am I poking fun at the people on the show. I can very much relate to the feeling of not wanting to give anything away because it means something. But I also don't want to live like that (and I want the basement finished someday this year).

I know that a tiny pair of shoes won't keep my kids little. A blanket won't make them need me like they used to. I have to force myself out of the past and to be in the moment, listening to them play outside on this gorgeous gift of a February day.

I'm passing the clothes on. To friends. To charities. I hope someone else makes as wonderful memories in these clothes as we did.

P.S.--I'm keeping four bins. Two for each kid. He wanted me to keep one bin total. Tough. I win.